


Cardboard Fantasy

by squishyturtlefuckfics



Series: Masturbation / Solo [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Michelangelo (TMNT), Embarrassment, Erections, Exhibitionism, Fantasy Pairing - Freeform, Gay, Male - Freeform, Masturbation, Other, Solo, implied sexual attraction, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyturtlefuckfics/pseuds/squishyturtlefuckfics
Summary: Request on tumblr - 'Mikey havin a wank in his room and he gets all embarrassed when he realises his Chris Bradford cutout is watching him. Pls and ty'





	Cardboard Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed! I love hearing from you guys! :D

Mikey groans, working himself at an easy pace, face stretched into a wide smile. Maaaan this was so good— so good to just lie back and do this. He’d been waiting all day to work this steam off. Training had been hell today, not to mention a total snooze, and now that it was finally done he had all night to himself.

He squeezes his cock, gingerly pressing the head between two fingers, then swoops his hand down the length. The first time is slow, then the next just that bit faster. And the next, and the next. Mikey chews his lip, nostrils flaring as he reaches a consistent pace. Yeaaah. Yeaaaaah.

His eyes crack half-open to the sight of stars: bright dots of white that speckle around his room, flashing and pulsing the faster he goes. He follows them around the room, over his posters and comic collections, over his training gear and old toys and bundle of magazines Raph still hadn’t realised were his--

\--And right over Chris Bradford’s face.

He jolts like a jack-in-the-box, sitting stark upright and attentive. Whilst Chris Bradford wasn’t actually in his room, the cut-out he’d had of him for years definitely was, ever-staring, ever-watching. His eyes seem to glisten in the light, and Mikey suddenly feels terribly exposed.

His heart skips.

“Dude!” he hisses, and without thinking he’s climbing out of bed and stomping toward the decoration, face pulled into a scowl as he grabs onto it, erection bobbing along with him. “A little privacy, please?”

There’s obviously no reply, but Mikey still twists him around anyway. When he hits the mattress again and looks back, there’s no face staring at him. Nothing judging or watching him. Just a blank, brown slab of cardboard.

He lies back with a sigh, letting his shell sink into the mattress. Within seconds he’s working himself again, but his cheeks still burn a scorching red. It’s just a cut-out, he reminds himself. Just a stupid cut-out. Cardboard. About as charming as the real dude. He strains himself to think about something else, settling on the memory of porn he’d been browsing earlier. Hunky dudes, and maybe some of those busty babes. Mikey smirks with a grunt, fondling his tail. That was more like it! This stuff was actually hot. All those sweaty dudes with those thick dicks. Ooh! Especially that one dude with the brown beard and the muscles!

Didn’t he look a lot like...?

His eyes fly open. The cut-out’s still where it was before, but Mikey finds himself squinting at it almost accusingly. After a few seconds, he drops his gaze downwards with the silent hope that his erection has wilted away.

It hasn’t.

The bed creaks as he sits, and his eyes settle back on the back of the cut-out. He drums his fingers into the blankets, stubby little tail whipping behind him. He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_.

The next thing he knows he’s hitting the mattress again, Bradford looking at him, and now even closer than last time. Mikey averts his gaze down, poking at his still-hard dick as if hoping it’ll just go away. Poof. Just like that. No more stiffy.

The poking turns into stroking when it doesn’t, and Mikey closes his eyes in an attempt to relax. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about _him_.  

Or those perfect, toned muscles.

Or that stupid, hot body.

And especially not that fat cock—

He lets out a frustrated whine, looking back towards Bradford, mind turning and humming, and hand still a blur over his cock. That damn handsome face, those sharp, gleaming eyes roving over his body: staring straight through him as he lays there with a stiff cock. Mikey’s breathing deepens. It sounds raspy to his ears. His heart flutters. His stomach lurches.  

 **_Fuck_ **.

He throws himself back onto the bed and wrenches his eyes shut, jerking his cock fast and hard. His thoughts shift and simmer, and through his mind’s eye his room comes into focus: just the way it was before. Every comic sitting where it should be, all of his empty pizza boxes piled up in the exact right way.

Except this time, the real Bradford is there, naked body displayed all for his pleasure.

The room is silent as Bradford approaches, and a lump forms in Mikey’s throat as the bed seems to sink around him. There’s heat, skin touching skin, hair grazing over scales, and something thick and hard being pushed into him. Mikey whines, spreading his legs, drawing blood from his lips as he’s breached, only to be covered by something warm. A hand at his mouth, a thumb pushing in. Mikey laps at it greedily, eyes drooping, pupils glassy. His cock aches as Bradford moves, pinning him to the bed, crushing him under his own body. Skin to shell now. Bradford‘s face so close, whispering in his ear as he fucks him. Oh god. Oh god, _oh god yes._

His cock spasms then jerks hard, and the image in his head swims and distorts. Mikey lets out a muffled, needy howl as his muscles tense, and he rides his orgasm out with a series of pathetic whines. _Fuck… Oh fuck…_

_Chris..._

Opening his eyes he finds himself alone, one finger jammed up his ass and a thumb prodding the back of his throat. The room is silent save for his ragged breathing, the illusion now gone.

But Bradford’s still watching him. 

Always watching.

Cheeks burning and chest heaving, he props the cardboard image back into its original spot, not even caring when he smears the image with cum, then retreats back to his bed and buries his head into his pillow.

 


End file.
